


Does it make you uncomfortable?

by clairakitty



Series: Sal Fisher Deserved Better (But I'm Not Going to Give it to Him) [1]
Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Larry is a good friend, M/M, Mild Homophobic Language, also the name sucks I apologize, and some overall bonding between BFFs, bc it's the 90s okay, do with that what you will, it's purely platonic right now but it's a prequel to a romantic series so, summaries are weird but it's about Sal telling Larry what happened to his face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 17:56:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17708966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairakitty/pseuds/clairakitty
Summary: Larry, though he was focused on his art, would glance at Sal every so often. Despite the fact his face was, quite literally, unreadable, Larry had become pretty efficient in reading the language of Sal. The way his eyes (or maybe eye? Larry hadn’t asked, but he was pretty sure there was something wrong with the one) would flick to and from Larry’s face. The way his fingers clutched at the frays of his jeans.Sal wanted to talk about something.





	Does it make you uncomfortable?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this series? Being posted TOTALLY out of order, because I'm writing it out of order. Sorry :S But I hope you like it anyways! I welcome any and all comments; they really make my day!

It had become a ritual almost. After school, Sal and Larry would walk home together, going straight to the basement to chill. Sometimes they listened to music, sometimes they did homework. Today, there was no homework, and the whole walk Sal had been subdued, so headbanging was probably out of the question. So instead, Larry had gotten out his paints as Sal flopped into the bean bag chair, resigning himself to a “sitting in silence together” kind of day. Not that that bothered either of them. They didn’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s company. 

 

Sal curled up on the bean bag, the back of his head against the wall and his knees tucked against his chest. His restless fingers picked at the holes of his jeans as his eye swiveled up to watch Larry work. His normally-pretty-neutral expression was focused, thick brows furrowed above warm brown eyes. Sal’s eye scanned the entirety of his best friend’s face–his strong cheekbones, the mole just below his sleepy eyes, his long, downturned nose, the gap in his front teeth and how they bit at his thin lips–and felt a pang of anger. Anger he immediately felt bad about, but anger nonetheless. It wasn’t a new feeling, this jealousy over people like Larry–which was just about everyone, to be fair–who worried about zits or something stuck in their teeth, not whether their face was fastened tight enough. 

 

Sal looked away again, picking at his nails. Not that there was much nail to pick at, really. Why was he so upset? It wasn’t the first time someone had been rude about his face. Not even the hundredth, really. Sometimes things he’d normally brush off would just stick, needling at his every thought. Mirroring Larry, Sal worried at the remainder of his lower lip below his prosthetic. The perspectives of “this is my issue, not Larry’s” and “Larry is your friend, you know he’d listen” warred within his head. 

 

Larry, though he was focused on his art, would glance at Sal every so often. Despite the fact his face was, quite literally, unreadable, Larry had become pretty efficient in reading the language of Sal. The way his eyes (or maybe eye? Larry hadn’t asked, but he was pretty sure there was something wrong with the one) would flick to and from Larry’s face. The way his fingers clutched at the frays of his jeans.  

 

Sal wanted to talk. 

 

But Larry knew not to push him. Instead, Larry continued to work on his piece–a gnarly-looking dog–while waiting for Sal to be ready. After an hour of silence, Larry was beginning to wonder if he’d read the situation, wrong, when-

 

“Larry Face?”

 

“Sally Face,” Larry responded immediately, looking up from his work and placing his paintbrush off to the side. 

 

There was a long stretch of silence, and though Larry couldn’t see Sal’s face, he could see the way his throat moved as he worked his jaw, trying to figure out what to say. But Larry was patient, and finally Sal (squeezed?) out, “Does it… bother you? My....” He gestured towards his prosthetic. “Face. Or, lack of a face,” he added wryly. 

 

Larry frowned in response, not having expected this to be the issue. “Why would it?” he asked in return.

 

More silence. Sal’s eyes flicked away, and yeah, one of them definitely moved differently. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “It’s all I’ve ever known, but… it makes people uncomfortable.” He scrunched up what remained of his nose beneath the mask, though Larry couldn't see. “I think I almost gave Mr. Addison a heart attack the day I moved in.” 

 

“That's not hard to do,” Larry responded immediately, before actually thinking about what Sal had asked. “No, it doesn't bother me. It's just… you. That,” he gestured towards his friend, “is just what ‘Sal’ looks like. All I think when I see your face is ‘man, what a cool guy.’” Sal huffed, throwing a pillow at Larry's grinning face. 

 

“Don't be such a suck-up.” Sal caught the pillow as Larry tossed it back, hugging it against his chest. 

 

Larry, still smiling his gap-toothed smile, leaned back against the dresser behind him, crossing his arms. “Why do you ask? I know it isn't just a conversation starter.” Sal looked away, and Larry continued, “Come on, dude, you can tell me.” 

 

Sal sighed. “Promise not to get mad.” At Larry's confirmation, he elaborated. “Travis… well, he was being Travis. It shouldn't have bothered me like it did. I know he didn't-”

 

“Sal, I love you, but if I have to hear you defend Travis's bullshit one more time I may scream.” 

 

Sal gave an unseen apologetic grin. “Right.” Larry waited patiently for him to continue. “It’s dumb,” Sal insisted, but continued anyways. “He asked how my ‘faggot boyfriend’ could stand to look at me. And I know you’re not my boyfriend,” he clarified quickly, “But I knew he was referring to you, and I just- I don’t know.” Sal curled in on himself a little, knowing he was rambling. “I wanted to make sure.”

 

Larry almost growled.  _ Fucking Travis _ . He leaned down off his stool to look Sal in the eye. “Dude. Travis is an idiot. Looking at you isn’t something I have to ‘stand.’ You’re my friend, and looking at you is a privilege.”

 

Sal snorted, pulling at his hair. “Maybe you are actually a fag.”

 

Larry shrugged, easily hiding the churning in his gut. “Well, only if being attracted to men makes you a fag.” Sal jerked, looking at Larry in surprise. “I mean, I’m not trying to hit on you!” he added quickly, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

 

“No, dude. Me too.” Sal’s eyes almost took up the whole eye holes of his mask. “I’ve never- I’ve never met another-”

 

“Dude, yeah you have.” At Sal’s confused look, Larry continued. “Todd? And Neil? They’ve been dating since this summer. You really didn’t notice?”

 

“I… I guess I’m just oblivious.” He seemed a little shaken, but the fact he was shaken over finding other people like him, not disgust, made Larry’s face split into a grin. 

 

“Yeah you are. You’re surrounded by inverts. Had us thinking you were a hetty like Chug!” Sal laughed at that, eyes tearing up. Because he was laughing? Because he wasn’t alone? Who knows.

 

“I guess we attract each other, huh?”

 

Larry nodded solemnly. “Like magnets.” Sal giggled again, and Larry laughed with him this time. “Man, all that stress about how you would react when you knew, all for nothing.” They laughed together for a little while, expelling their pent-up anxiety. Then Sal was crying, and Larry was on the bean bag holding him. 

 

“I’ve never… told anyone before,” Sal admitted, and Larry felt a pang of sympathy. “I get harassed enough at school as it is. The homo with the prosthetic face and pigtails is a bigger target than the normal kid with a prosthetic face and pigtails, amazingly.” 

 

“Well, I’m glad you told me.” Larry grinned, patting Sal’s head. “I’ll have to teach you ALL the gay jokes.” Sal let out a breathy laugh, leaning his head on Larry’s shoulder. The silence was tranquil, Sal occasionally wiping at his eyes. Eventually, Larry spoke up.

 

“Do you… remember it? What happened?”

 

With no need to ask what “it” was, Sal thought for a moment. “Kind of. It's like a dream when I do… I'm sure as much of it is wrong as right.” After an instant of reflection, he made up his mind. Larry could know. “It was a dog.”

 

Larry winced. “Well, that sounds horrible.” 

 

Sal couldn't help but laugh.  _ That's a bit of an understatement. _ “It wasn't FUN, I'll give you that. Most of it they say I blocked out though? I went to pet a dog, then… I was in a hospital with my whole face wrapped up like a mummy, and my mom…” Larry had to hold back his surprise at that; Sal never talked about his mom, and Mr. Fisher certainly wasn't forthcoming. “She died. Trying to help me. I'm not sure dad ever forgave me.” 

 

“Well, that isn’t fair,” Larry said with a frown. “She was your mom, of course she tried to help.” 

 

Sal just shrugged. “I guess. I don’t blame him though; he’d only had me three years. You’re hardly even a person by then. I’d probably prefer my mom, too, if I were him.” Larry tried to interject, but Sal talked over him. “You either get a deformed son you have to raise on your own, or a wife you’ve loved for years.”

 

“How bad can it be, man? I mean, I love your mask, but you aren’t some kind of monster.”

 

Sal scoffed. “‘How bad.’ Well, I have a glass eye, for one-”

 

“I knew it!” Larry interrupted, though he shrunk and gave an apologetic grin at Sal’s (withering? incredulous?) look. “Uh, sorry,” he corrected, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ve just been wondering that lately.”

 

“Great, good to know it’s obvious,” Sal responded dryly. 

 

“No, no, it’s cool-!”

 

Sal cut him off with a wave of the hand. “Whatever, dude, it’s cool. It’s better than the eye socket at least.” Embarrassed, Larry was quiet, allowing him to continue. “Anyways, there’s the eye. And that whole half is… pretty fucked.” Sal gestured to the right side of his face. “Took out a huge chunk of my jaw. Got a weird cleft lip going on.” Subconsciously, his hand went up to rub at the nose of his prosthetic. “My whole nose got ripped off, too. Just two slits, like a snake.” He shook his head firmly. “No way I could go without my prosthetic. You think the mask draws attention? Even my dad won’t look at me without it.” 

 

Larry felt a stab of anger at that. It’s been, what, twelve years, and his own father won’t look at him? No wonder he was so insistent about keeping it on. He found himself trying to picture Sal’s face, based on the information he had, and couldn’t imagine anything foul enough to keep him from looking at Sal. Sal was his best friend, after all. 

 

Decidedly, Larry looked Sal in the eye and told him, “You should get more eye colors.”

 

Sal looked up at him in confusion. “What?”

 

“Glass eyes. Get more. Like, get some fuckin’ crazy ones.” He counted off on his fingers, “A red one, maybe, or one that’s all black? Maybe one with like, multiple pupils?” Larry’s eyes widened. “Do they have eyes that glow?”

 

“I don't… know?” Sal tilted his head in confusion, trying to figure out if Larry was making fun of him or what. Picking up on it, Larry clapped his hands together, looking at Sal intently. 

 

“Look, dude, it's like tofurkey.” 

 

At this point, Sal was thoroughly sure that Larry was having a stroke. 

 

“Like, turkey? Turkey is good. But so is tofu! And if you try and make tofu into turkey, it's always going to suck, y'know? Because it's inferior turkey. But if you just embrace the tofu, you can make so many cool things that you wouldn't be able to do with turkey!” 

 

“Okay… I didn't know you felt so strongly about tofu,” Sal snarked, unsure where he was going with this.

 

Larry sighed. “Dude, you're the tofu. You try to look normal, but why? You could be taking advantage of it all to do things other people can't! I can't change my eye colors, but you can, and that's dope!” 

 

Sal was silent, a little surprised. No one had ever been so passionate about him. And encouraging him to accept his face? Like it, even? That was definitely new. He tugged at his hair, looking slantwise at the floor. “I've never thought of it like that,” he admitted. “My dad has been saving up money for plastic surgery, but… I don't know if I want it.” 

 

“Definitely don't do it if you aren't sure, man. You'd be stuck with that face for life.” He didn't want to push Sal one way or the other, but Larry couldn't imagine Sal with some artificially-constructed face. Which may be a little ironic, considering what a prosthetic is. It just felt wrong. 

 

Sal shrugged. “I’ve just had this prosthetic as long as I can remember. It’s what I look like. I don’t want to not recognize myself in the mirror.” 

 

Larry nodded in understanding. “It’s not like you’re on a time limit. You could do it whenever, right? So just wait until you’re sure.” He grinned, looking back at his easel. “In the meantime, I’m gonna draw you with some fresh possibilities and you can pick your favorite.” 

 

Sal leaned back on the bean bag, smiling back beneath his prosthetic. He was thoroughly cheered up, as Larry was always able to do. “You better make me look good, Lar.”

 

“As if you could ever look bad,” Larry responded immediately. He didn’t look up, already intently focused on his art, and so he didn’t notice the red flush of Sal’s ears. 

 

After a few minutes of silence, Sal sitting as a perfect model while Larry sketched him out, Sal spoke up with an undercurrent of laughter. “Why did you care so much about tofurkey, anyways? That was a very specific example.”

 

Larry shrugged. “Todd's parents made tofurkey for dinner once. It was awful.” He shuddered exaggeratedly. “Stupid fake meat. I’ve never forgotten.” 

 

They laughed together at that, Sal promising to never try and trick Larry with fake meat under his impassioned insistence. Over the next hour or so, Larry finished several sketches of Sal, some more feasible than others, but Sal found himself getting excited at the idea of a unique glass eye–he even suggested a few himself! Together, they decided he’d get something simple at first: a neon green eye. To see how he liked it. When Sal left, he felt buoyant. He was pretty sure that, despite his initial reservations, he was glad they had moved to Addison Apartments.


End file.
